


your lips, a magic word

by mugsandpugs



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Partying, Pre-Poly, Sleepy Cuddles, Some Bev/Richie, Some Mike/Eddie, Some Stan/Richie, Underage Drinking, this is really soft but it does reference their various past traumas in a gentle way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugsandpugs/pseuds/mugsandpugs
Summary: The Losers club gathers in the Denbrough basement for some teenage nonsense.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	your lips, a magic word

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Echo & the Bunnyman's "The Killing Moon"

Edward “Eddie” Kaspbrak couldn’t say why Richie always pretended to be drunk before he started wrestling with Bev. If he thought knocking back a single shot of this or that before stretching, losing his shirt, and saying something wild fooled _any_ of his friends, he was kidding himself. 

Only Eddie, and maybe Stan, still had an alcohol tolerance _that_ low.

Maybe Beverly was tiring of this weekly charade. The more Richie pestered her, the more he found lame excuses to touch her long legs or her slender waist, the more she rolled her eyes.

“Cut the crap, Trashmouth,” she snarked, holding a lit cigarette between two fingers like she thought she was Audrey Hepburn. “You gonna show me what that mouth can do?”

And it was on. The two rolled together like puppies, bumping into furniture, nearly upsetting the drinks table of the Denbrough’s basement (there was no better place to hang out. Bill’s parents were such space cadets after… everything that’d happened a few summers prior… that they could likely have held a rave in here without drawing their attention. A little underaged drinking was nothing.

Ben bent to snatch the cigarette out of his girlfriend’s hand as she rolled past him, laughing, Richie’s legs around her waist, her free hand gripping his messy hair. “You’re gonna set the carpet on fire again,” he warned, then stuck the cigarette into his own mouth instead. It didn’t count as being a smoker if it was someone else’s cig, right?

“Doesn’t it bother you? Them being like this?” Eddie asked Ben quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from Richie, who was gazing up at Beverly’s face through semi-fogged glasses. She straddled his hips, laughing, flinging wild red curls from her eyes. 

Beverly’s knees pinned Richie’s arms to the floor, their bodies wedged between the coffee table and the sofa where Stan napped and Mike copied Bill’s calc homework. Perhaps she’d won fairly; perhaps Richie had _let_ her win. He knew better than to pin her, after all the damage her father had caused. The one and only time he’d held her down, she’d gotten anxious and mean, and hadn’t stopped shaking for an hour.

Ben seemed to consider Eddie’s question. He took a long drag of the cigarette, holding the stolen smoke in his lungs for as long as possible before exhaling through his nose. “Honestly? Nah. It’s not like it’s cheating if it’s one of _us._ And you know Richie, Eds; he’s…”

“He’s what?” Eddie asked, trying not to feel anxious. Stress was the leading cause of heart failure in American men over forty. He wasn’t forty yet, but he would be eventually! Maybe!

The door to the den opened, and Bill came down the steps, carefully carrying another two six-packs of beer. He awkwardly balanced a party-sized bag of chips against his chest. “Don’t offer t-t-to help me, or anything,” he snarked sarcastically.

“Mmkay, I won’t,” Stan mumbled, eyes still closed. He covered his face with one tan arm, trying to block out the light. 

Taking pity on him, Mike grabbed his football jersey from the coffee table, folded it into a kind of handkerchief, and laid it over Stan’s eyelids. Stan mumbled his thanks. Mike gently rubbed up and down the other boy’s spine, writing into his spiral notebook one-handedly.

Because nobody else would, Eddie got up to carry the chips to the table. He helped himself to a handful, then wished he hadn’t when he heard a soft moan and saw the hungry way Beverly was kissing Richie. 

They kissed like they did everything else — like it was a game, a contest, that both were hellbent on winning. Richie’s hands cupped the girl’s breasts through her sweater. Beverly’s tongue worked its way into Richie’s all-too-willing mouth.

“So glad we get live porno night early this week,” Stan grumbled from behind his blindfold, his sarcasm biting. “I don’t even have to look to know Trashmouth’s trying to suck Bevvie’s face off again.”

Beverly surfaced with a slurp. Eddie tried not to think of just how _many_ germs the human mouth contained; worse than dogs, even. He tried not to think of mono, or cold sores, or herpes…

“He’s getting better,” she replied, sounding unphased. “At kissing, I mean. He doesn’t hoover my lips off anymore, or whatever the fuck he used to try.”

Richie pouted, still squishing Beverly’s boobs like he was the reigning champion at a milking competition. “Lip sucking is sexy.”

“Wrong.” Beverly made to point her cigarette at him, found she no longer had it, and turned to pretend-glare at her boyfriend for stealing it. Ben shrugged innocently and took another drag. 

“Lip _nibbling_ is sexy, in moderation. I don’t want to show up at school looking like I got punched in the mouth. And what’s up with your grab-ass technique?!” She took Richie’s wrists, prying his hands off her chest. “I’m a _girl,_ not a jar of pickles you can’t get open. Stop squeezing so hard.”

Bill barked a laugh, sitting cross-legged on the floor. At Richie’s wounded look, he quickly masked it by cracking open a beer and slurping the froth.

“Alrighty,” Richie challenged, turning his glare up at Beverly. “O worldly woman, O Jezebel, O scarlet wench, _teach_ me how to handle yon bosoms.”

Beverly blinked slowly, two ginger eyebrows arched high. “Step one,” she began patiently. _“Never_ refer to my tits as ‘bosoms’ ever again. Or any other cutesy Tozier-patented word. You may call them ‘breasts,’ ‘boobs,’ or ‘tits.’ Any other word will cause a complete loss of touching privileges, forever. And step two—”

She worked her sweater off over her head, flinging it in Ben’s direction. It smacked Eddie square in the face. He quickly swatted it off in time to see Beverly, now wearing only a white cotton bra, laying with her arms braced on either side of Richie’s head.

Again, Eddie glanced anxiously at Ben’s face. Again, he found nothing but bland serenity there. Was Ben high?! No; Eddie had seen Ben high before. This was not that. _This_ was a genuine acceptance of the proceedings. 

It wasn’t like Richie was Eddie’s boyfriend, no matter how much Eddie secretly wished it were otherwise. So why did Eddie feel so much more freaked out by this than Ben, Beverly’s _actual_ boyfriend?

Was this another instance of Eddie being a neurotic nutjob, overreacting to things that didn’t bother normal people?

… Oh, but the other boys had taken notice of this development. Mike’s eyes kept flicking to the scene before he forced them right back onto the homework. He was smart; maybe even smarter than Bill, but because of the pressures of being on the football team, he didn’t have as much time to study as the rest of them did.

Stan had outright lowered his blindfold, watching as Beverly took Richie’s hands and brought them back to her chest, showing him how to find her nipples with his thumbs. Her own hands cradled his, showing the correct amount of pressure he should exude while he kneaded them; massaged them.

“See?” she asked, voice pitched a notch warmer than before. “Isn’t that nice?”

For once, Richie didn’t have an answer for her. His face had gone very pink.

Eddie’s own face felt hot with shame — and maybe something else, something harder to name. He ducked his gaze, focusing instead on neatly folding Beverly’s sweater so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Her perfume was nice. It seemed so refined, so grown up…

… So _everything_ Eddie was not.

“Bevvie,” Ben said, surprising them all. The other boys looked guiltily at him, as though afraid they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t. _Watching_ something they shouldn’t. “You wanna take the rest off?”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. Bill choked on his beer, coughing until Mike reached over the arm of the couch to thump his back. They’d all seen each other stripped down to their underwear and soaking wet before; countless times since they were little kids.

They’d seen each other in other forms of nakedness, too; forms that had nothing to do with clothes. They’d seen each other cry. They’d seen each other near death, and in the worst terror it was possible for a body to experience and still keep its sanity. They’d seen one another as primal animals; soaked in monster blood and screaming for vengeance. They’d seen each other in the lowest pits of grief.

Compared to all that, clothing should have been irrelevant. Once you’d seen someone’s soul laid bare, flesh made very little difference.

(Was that what Ben had meant when he said it wasn’t cheating, so long as it was within the Losers? Was that what he and Beverly were trying to show them now?)

“I want Bill to take it off _for_ me,” Beverly purred.

Bill went very, very still.

There was something like worry in Beverly’s eyes when she turned to regard him. “If that’s okay,” she clarified quickly. “You don’t have to. Nobody has to… I’d never make anyone… You can _always_ say no.”

Again, Eddie thought of Beverly’s father. “No” was a word she’d never been allowed to say to him. Of course she wanted ‘no’ to remain an option, for herself and for others.

The reminder made him feel all the guiltier for being so jealous of her.

Bill swallowed and set his beer down. “I w-w-want to,” he protested, also sounding half an octave deeper than usual. “I’m saying yes.”

Without a word, Mike closed his notebook and set it down on the floor. Apparently this was something worth postponing homework for.

Bill approached Beverly on hands and knees, gently laying a palm between her sharp shoulderblades. He had clever hands; artists’ fingers; hands that cold fold a paper boat out of anything. He used them to unhook Beverly’s bra and slipped it down her shoulders, and as though responding to a silent agreement, Richie pulled it the rest of the way off her.

Eddie didn’t look, and then wondered if he was supposed to, and then he forced himself to keep his eyes on her. Then, wondering what exactly he was supposed to feel, he looked down at his knees again.

Beverly’s breasts were like the rest of her body: small and freckled. They were heavier on the bottom than they were on top; not the perfect round orbs Eddie always imagined when he thought of breasts, but more like teardrops. Her pink nipples pointed upwards.

Eddie thought of his own flat, skinny chest. Of the ribs visible beneath his skin. He felt so much like a little kid, still, though he was the same age as the rest of them. How did Beverly manage to look like a grown-up, when Eddie feared he’d be a little kid forever?

After a moment’s hesitation, Richie reached to touch Beverly again, holding and massaging her as she’d taught him. He rolled his thumbs over her nipples, and she sighed, leaning back against Big Bill’s broad chest.

Bill kissed Beverly’s shoulder like he loved her, his arm slipping around her waist to aid Richie in stroking her chest.

(Of course he loves her. Losers _always_ love each other! Nobody else is gonna...)

Ben must’ve seen it, too. Finally, _finally,_ a tiny frown formed between his brows. It smoothed away when Ben noticed Eddie watching him, but Eddie knew it’d been there. Was he a little afraid, after all, that his girlfriend was being stolen away?

It was Stan, _blessed_ Stan, who broke the silence. “Is this really happening?” he asked. “What the hell _is_ this, anyway? Are you guys actually gonna fuck, or…?”

Eddie’s heavy heart gave a jolt. His mind rushed in to fill in the gaps. Did they all have protection? Did _he_ have protection? What if Beverly tore? She’d bleed. Was vaginal blood more dangerous than other blood? 

He thought of STDs and STIs and all the statistics for teen pregnancy. If Bevvie got pregnant, would they be able to make enough money to move her out of Derry? Raising a child in this hellhole, when they knew what lurked in the sewers, was unthinkable. Maybe an abortion? Were abortions dangerous?

In his mind, Eddie’s mother chanted: _“Whore; whore. I told you girls like that are no good, Eddie-bear; I told you not to play with such dirty losers!”_

He pushed her out of his head. While never easy, this process had become less difficult over his years of practice. His mother may have loved him, but she wasn’t a kind person. She saw the world only in black and white, and rarely cared about people on an individual level. For all of Eddie’s fears and tics, he still loved all of his friends unconditionally.

“Is… Is this something you guys actually want?” Eddie surprised himself by asking. “If you’re doing this for a dare, or cuz you think it’d be chicken to back out now, or whatever, that’s just fucking stupid. Nobody has to prove how brave they are. We already know.”

Mostly, this was directed at Beverly and Richie. Those two would dare each other off a cliff if they were bored enough, and they’d never think of the sharp rocks below until it was too late. It was Eddie’s job to remind them they weren’t immortal; infallible.

“Well,” Beverly said, a hard determination in her eyes. _“I_ wanna get fucked, preferably more than once. But like… No shame here, guys. If anyone is uncomf, we can stop. Sorry I didn’t ask before getting naked.”

“I mean,” Stan’s sandy eyebrows hit his hairline. “Fuck yeah _I’m_ staying. Je- _sus.”_

“Jews aren’t supposed to say that,” Richie quipped. “Don’t you guys not believe in him?”

“We believe he was a _person,_ but not the son of G-o-d. I can say his name if I want to.”

“Don’t you wanna be sayin’ _my_ name, Stanny?”

“Yeah, when I testify at your court hearing. _‘No, your honor; Richard Tozier has_ never _been innocent.’”_

“I’ll just bet you have _all_ kinds of naughty dreams about me in a prison uniform — whoa!”

This last bit was directed at Beverly, who had reached between Richie’s legs and pressed flat against him. She ground her palm with the clear knowledge of someone who had done such a thing before, 

Richie’s head fell back, his shiny lips parting in a silent gasp, and all thought immediately fled Eddie’s head as he learned exactly what his best friend looked like when he was turned on: rapturously, angelically, beautiful.

Well, still like a dweeb, honestly, with those buck-teeth and thick glasses. But still beautiful. Shut up.

“Is that what it takes to shut you up?” Bevvie asked, wrinkling her nose at Richie to show she was still kidding. Her hand was gentle but firm between his legs, rolling her palm over the seam of his jeans.

“Fuck,” Stan mumbled, his voice deeper than before. “I’ve never heard him go quiet so fast. Imagine what’d happen if you sucked him off.”

Eddie looked at Stan, more of that terrible jealousy blooming in his heart... Jealousy that didn’t belong in the Loser’s club. So Stan and Richie were buddies; so what? That didn’t mean they liked Eddie any less... So why did he always feel like he was always left on the sidelines?

Bevvie was looking at Stan with a smug little curl in her lips. “Dunno, Stanny... why don’t you come on down here and find _out_ what happens?”

Richie’s entire body twitched. He removed his glasses, unable to tolerate how foggy they were getting, and passed them over. Mike took them and set them safely on a side-table, where they wouldn’t get squished. 

“Do...” Richie said, swallowing, worrying his lip. “Do you want to come over here, Stan? I... There’s plenty of room.”

Looking eager, Stan slipped off the couch and over to the tangle on the floor. He was a powerful boy, always sure of himself, and Eddie admired that about hom. How Stan talked so openly in front of classrooms and even once an assembly hall. Ever since he’d gotten diagnosed and treated for his OCD and anxiety the summer before, it felt like the boy was unstoppable. 

He sat beside the topless Beverly and regarded the debauched Richie for a long moment before Bevvie gave him a little push. “Oh, just get it over with. I’m getting old here.”

Rolling his eyes, Stan bent to press a kiss to Richie’s mouth. It looked like he knew what he was doing, too. Had Stan kissed people before?

... Was Eddie the only person here who’d never kissed anyone? That thought made him feel lower than low. He sank back into the sofa, wanting to disappear. Ben shot him a concerned glance which Eddie did not return.

Richie let out a wanting little sound, reaching to bury his hands in Stan’s curls, to drag him closer. He reacted like a starving man; like this was what he’d been wanting for years. Suddenly all his tiffs and spats with Stan took on a new light. “Stan...” Richie gasped when they parted for air. “Stan, please...”

Beverly set her sights on Bill and moved in for the kill, knocking him away from Richie, while Richie found himself half devoured by a growling Stan. Beverly moved with the predatory grace of a lioness on the hunt, and not a minute later, she and Bill were kissing heavily. Beverly even slipped a hand down her pants and touched herself, sighing, rocking back against Bill’s bent leg.

Eddie realized he was hard, which felt like a bit of a silly thing to notice now; like his body had done it without consulting him. It added to the overall awkwardness of the experience. Though his mind was still so conflicted over what was happening before him, apparently his body was still interested.  
  
He glanced over to see whether Ben had noticed, but Ben was still watching the way Bill and Beverly writhed on the floor. Beverly was doing something Eddie couldn't see, her hand moving in her jeans, her hips rocking against her fist as Big Bill held and sucked her breasts. Eddie wondered if he was supposed to feel something more with things like that... Even if he didn't really like girls that way, surely he should still be curious? Mostly, he felt embarrassed. He wished everybody would stop. 

Was he allowed to leave, he wondered? Or would that be too much of a buzzkill? Richie called him that, sometimes, when he didn't want to drink or party. And sometimes Richie was a little bit right, when Eddie's mother's voice was speaking too loud in his head, preventing him from doing what he wanted to do, but sometimes he was wrong, also; Eddie didn't think he was wrong for being more of an introvert by nature.

... It was only that he didn't want to feel left out of this. It felt like a big moment for the Loser's club. If he stepped out, what would that say about him? That he wasn't really part of them? For crying out loud; he'd been afraid of that from the start. He was always breaking his arm or losing his nerve when big things happened.

He realized a second later that Mike was watching him, and he sat back and blushed. Mike was always so cool; he never seemed flustered by anything. Even now, he was only smiling faintly, as relaxed as he might be in front of a football game. He patted the empty spot beside him where Stan had sat, mouthing, "C'mere."

Shyly, Eddie did as asked, and Mike pulled him down, tucking an arm around his shoulders and giving him a squeeze. He was so big... And he smelled good, too; all soap and lemon and boy. And was he ever handsome... Those high cheeks, those bright eyes, that flawless skin and warm smile... Eddie found himself relaxing despite his misgivings.

"You doing okay, E?" Mike asked, talking quiet so only Eddie could hear. "You looked a little worried over there. No upsetti spaghetti at this party..."

Eddie gave him a grateful little smile, snuggling against his warm side. "Better now."

Mike always made sure that everyone felt included. Mike was the best. Mike was...

Emboldened, Eddie turned to look him in the eye. "Would you kiss me?" he asked. Of all the people to give his first kiss to, Mike was a perfect option. He was a gentleman, and he cared about how his friends felt. Why hadn't Eddie ever considered it before?!

He knew the answer to that, simple as can be: it was because Mike was not Richie. But then again... Richie had gone and made out with two of their friends that night. He seemed quite content to slobber all over Stan's face. Maybe he didn't care about how Eddie felt at all.

Mike regarded him, calm and unshakable as ever. "You sure you want that, little guy?"

"I'm not so little," Eddie pouted. Sure, he hadn't become the big, brawny football star that Mike had, but he was taller and stronger than he'd ever been. Now that he no longer allowed his mother to dictate his life, his health had improved drastically. 

Mike looked him up and down, a smile settling across his face. "No; I guess you're not. Well, if you're sure..."

"I am!" Eddie gathered all the courage he could muster, trying to look determined. Still anxious, but if Stan could get so into the fun despite his anxiety, then so could Eddie. He braced his hands in his lap and leaned forward, eyes closed.

Chuckling, Mike held Eddie's face in a big, gentle hand, rubbing his cheekbone with a thumb. It was nice to be held like this; cared for. Mike leaned in and pressed his mouth to Eddie's. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel any special way, either. Just pressure. He thought about what Bevvie had said, about lip nibbling being sexy, but feared he might bite too hard. What to do, then?

Before he could panic, Mike moved, gently moving his lips. Eddie tried to copy him, and found they fit together better this way, when he made his body and face pliable. Things got better in a hurry when Mike used his free hand to cup the back of Eddie's neck, gently scritching along his hairline. That felt beyond nice.

Sighing, Eddie again tried to copy Mike. He touched his face, stroked his cheek, explored the back of his neck and the soft start of his hairline. He felt along the muscles of Mike's arms, and dared tiptoe onto the boy's big chest. Mike was big everywhere. He was so strong... Eddie wanted to feel more of him. He was starting to get dizzy on how good Mike felt and smelled, all warm and crushing up against him. He'd been right: Mike was a good first kiss to have.  
  
When they broke apart, Mike gave him a dimpled smile, and Eddie blushed. "That was really nice," he said, suddenly shy again. "Thank you..."

Was it weird to thank someone for a kiss? Mike didn't look bothered, so Eddie supposed it was okay.

When he looked back at the Losers on the floor, he saw that Richie was both shirtless and looking at him. Richie was unimpressive, physically speaking, especially compared to Mike and Big Bill. Then again, so was Eddie. They were scrawny and pale boys, looking every bit their teenaged years. Scarecrows with limbs too long and chests too narrow.

And yet none of that mattered, because Eddie loved Richie. Loved the fire inside him that lit his eyes up and got his mouth going at ninety miles an hour. He loved Richie's mind, and its inability to sit still. Such boundless explosions of creativity and passion. Eddie loved Richie for who he was inside, which left everything else in the dust.

Richie saw Eddie noticing him, and he pulled away from Stan, clearing his throat, looking away. "What're you lookin' at, Spaghetti?"

Any other time, Eddie would have searched for a rude and cutting comeback; something to make Richie wrinkle his nose and laugh. But he still felt Mike's kiss tingling on his lips, and Richie was still very much shirtless, his glasses lost in the chaos of the room, and Eddie wasn't working with his full set of brain cells. "You."

"O-oh." Bless Richie's fair skin; Eddie saw his blush crawl all the way down his face and onto his neck, staining it the mottled pink of strawberry ice cream. Strawberry had always been Eddie's favorite flavor. 

Beverly, extricating herself from Bill's embrace, gave them an irritated huff. "Would you two just _kiss_ already?!"

Eddie startled, looking around. Stan, on his back under Richie, gave a nod, and so did Bill. "N-no offense, but those p-p-puppy dog eyes are d-driving us all crazy," he muttered, at Eddie's searching glance. When Eddie glanced at Mike, he gave a sheepish grin as if to say, 'sorry, man; it's the truth.'

Eddie felt almost as red as Richie looked. "Well I'm not gonna do it with all you pervs watching!" he sputtered; a last ditch effort at self preservation. 

Richie's eyes went wide. He _beamed. "_ You'll kiss me, Eds? Really?!"

Eddie felt any habitual urge to scold him for the use of forbidden nicknames die in his throat. Richie looked so _happy..._

"I mean..." Eddie muttered, shy now that the spotlight was on him. "I _guess..."_

Like some weird kind of horror movie crab, Richie scuttled blindly across the floor to him, barrelling into his legs. He grabbed Eddie's calves and dragged him, squalling, off the sofa, then lurched into his lap. He clapped Eddie's face between his hands and gave his cheeks a squeeze until Eddie's lips puffed out. 

"Ack!" Eddie complained, pushing Richie's face away. "You dingus... I should've known you wouldn't take this seriously."

"I am!" Richie argued, shaking hair out of his eyes. "I am, I am; never before was there a more serious lad than Richard Armand Tozier—"

"—that's not even your middle name—" 

"—house of Derry, Lord of sewer clowns and all their bullshit—"

Bereft of any other way to shut him up, Eddie seized Richie by the chin and dragged him into a kiss. Of course it was too hard at first; teeth clacked, jawbones smacked. Both boys gave a nervous laugh and realigned to try again. "You hold still," Eddie muttered, trying to remember all that Mike had just taught him. 

"I can do that; I can hold so still; I'll be the stillest man you've ever met; I'll—"

"Beep beep, Richie." Eddie closed his eyes, hoping that Richie was doing the same. He tilted his head and pressed his mouth against Richie's, soft and slow, and it was like everything coiled tight and wired to pounce inside Richie's body all relaxed, sagged, at once. He _sighed._

Feeling a sense of calm, connected control overtaking him, Eddie gave Richie a little push, lining him up where he wanted to be. He brought a hand up to slide his fingers through Richie’s dark curls, cupping his jaw, and kissed him deep and sweet until Richie was squirming. Squirming in a way he most decidedly had not done for Beverly or Stan.

(Eddie tried not to feel _too_ too smug about that. This wasn’t a competition, and if it was, he was the only one taking it seriously.)  
  
Richie sighed, attempting to bowl Eddie over like he'd done so often with Beverly. Unlike Bevvie, Eddie did not resist. He lay flat on his back and pulled Richie closer, tugging at those crazy curls of his, and Richie laughed, hoarse. He peered myopically into Eddie's eyes. "Hey, Eds.'

"You've said that already."

"Can I touch you?"

**[Chapter 1 ending below. Skip to Chapter 2 for smut, or keep reading for fluff]**

Eddie's heart flip-flopped. He took a cursory glance around the room. Bill and Bev had migrated to Ben's couch, where the three of them were talking quietly. They didn't look upset; not even Ben. Maybe... Maybe they were working out whatever weird feelings they must all be going through right now. Eddie had confidence, at least, that they'd be able to get through it. The Loser's club was golden like that. 

On the loveseat, Stan had returned to his earlier spot, cuddling half in Mike's lap. Mike was stroking his hair; patting his flank. Stan had a happy little smile that only Eddie could see; content as a cat by a warm stove.

Nobody was paying him or Richie any attention, so Eddie turned back to him. Nodded. The grin that spread across Richie's face made Eddie's heart flip a second time. 

Carefully, tenderly, Richie stroked his knuckles down Eddie's throat. Eddie closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation as long, cool fingers walked over to his collarbones, smoothing the neck of his shirt down to touch them. When Richie took Eddie's throat in hand, Eddie's Adam's apple fit neatly in the webbing between thumb and forefinger. He sighed. "You don't have to be that gentle."

"Maybe I wanna be. Maybe I _wanna_ take care of my little Spaghooter."

Eddie opened his eyes to glare at Richie. "For the last time, I'm not little! I'm—"

Richie kissed him again; a sweet, apologetic brush of lips. He pulled Eddie to his chest, rubbing up and down his back, and Eddie sighed; choosing to let the argument go for now. He let Richie calm him with strokes and caresses, then finally settled down with his head on Richie's shoulder. Richie's heart was beating slower than Eddie had ever heard it. Usually it thrummed hummingbird-fast. 

"You okay there, Trashmouth?" he asked, mumbling.

"I'm good. I'm happy." 

Eddie felt happy, too. Happy and sleepy. The mood had changed in the basement, however subtly. Things were going back to normal... Though, Eddie couldn't help but wonder, if 'normal' was going to change a little bit, now. He hoped so.

Gathering up all the courage he could muster, he made to shoot his shot. "Trashmouth? I maybe kind of like your ugly face."

Richie went rather still, seeming to hold his breath before daring to look Eddie's way. He swallowed; an audio gulp in the still room. "What... Are you saying, Eds?"

"I'm saying I like you, dipshit. I'm saying..." _Oh, fuck it._ "I'm saying I'd kind of like to... Be... No, to go... Fucking hell; will you just _date_ me, already?!"

He'd spoken a little too loud. He knew the others were looking at them now, by the way the conversations at both couches stopped. His face reddened, and he didn't dare look away from Richie. If he saw their staring faces, he'd lose his nerve entirely.

A journey seemed to travel across Richie's features. Shock, disbelief, dawning hope, wonder, and full realization. "You mean it, Eds?!" he asked, joyus. In one spring-filled movement, he had Eddie flat on his back. He was holding onto him, covering his face in tiny kisses. "You mean it, really, _really?!_ Holy fucking shit!"

Eddie batted at him. "Ack! Stop! You're getting spit in my nose— Trashmouth!"  
  
Richie was already in a world of his own, babbling nonstop date ideas in his ear. "— and then we can go roller skating and I can kick your ass at water polo and then shit fuck we'll have to tell my _mom,_ but that's still better than telling your mom, so I guess that's fine, and—"  
  
Eddie heard a badly concealed snort from the sofa. He glanced over to see what he'd dreaded: his friends watching him with knowing amusement. Beverly gave him a wicked grin; a thumbs up. Eddie's face felt very hot as he rolled his eyes at them.  
  
"—I guess we can tell my dad, too; he won't really give a shit, though, but _someone_ has to pay for our wedding—"  
  
With a sigh, Eddie rested his head against Richie's chest and listened to his heart, tuning out the majority of his babbling. He felt drained, but happy. His friends were better than anyone in the world; in Derry or out. He felt glad to be alive.


End file.
